


Paid in Full

by SenkoWakimarin



Series: Quid Pro Quo [2]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Choking, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16887996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Frank finishes paying off his debt.





	Paid in Full

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caffeineandspite01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeineandspite01/gifts).



> LMAO I had to follow up to the Favor for a Favor crackfic, the open ending needed closure.

As far as Frank’s concerned, a dick is a dick is a dick. You live in close quarters with enough men, you’re gonna see more dicks than you need to figure out that they’re nothing special, even if you like dick. Eventually, saturated by anything, you reach the point where you have had Enough.

Frank was never what anyone would call a player. He’d slept with a few people before Maria, and a couple of those people had dicks. Even in that context, it was just a part of the body, vaguely stupid looking, vulnerable, grotesquely utilitarian in function. You could have fun with a dick, but it wasn’t much to look at in any context. A dick is a dick is a dick.

Or maybe not.

Cable’s dick, Frank finds, is… well it’s definitely a dick, and so all the usual facts still apply, but it’s also… a little unique. It’s a hefty piece, for one thing; thick but not too long. Uncut -- Frank wonders if they gave that shit up in the future or whatever. But mostly it’s the fact that the weird metal shit he’s got tearing through his skin is present even there that’s got Frank a little nervous at this point.

He’d been a little occupied when they’d been fucking Wade, and Cable had tucked himself away so quick, Frank wasn’t really trying to look at that point. Now he’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to have eyes for anything else. The metal is shiny, tightly corrugated, almost like a vein curling around the length. Frank kind of wants to touch it, because the textures are so incongruous, the thin soft skin typical to dicks everywhere abruptly broken by hard, unyielding metal.

Fingers curled against his palm, not quite hard enough to be considered fists, he leans his weight on his arms, pressing his knuckles into his thighs as he shifts just slightly forward. Cable makes an amused sound low in his throat, and that shouldn’t be the thing that makes this all suddenly feel so sexual -- the erect dick in his face should have done that -- but it is.

Suddenly Frank’s very aware of himself, on his knees in his underwear, hands curled against his thighs with a very powerful man standing over him. It’s a power dynamic he’s not experienced before -- even when he’s gone down on other men, it’s always been on a bed, both laying down, equal footing. In every one of those situations, too, there had been a dull, vague comfort in the knowledge that in a fight he could dismantle the other person, take them apart with a neat precision.

This is not like that. In a fair fight -- well, was there such a thing as a fair fight with a man like this? He was better trained, better armed, literally part metal.

“I can read your mind too,” Cable says, the rumble of his voice dancing between threatening and laughing. But his hand, when he rests it on Frank’s brow, is gentle. “We’re not here to fight, though, are we... Lieutenant?”

Frank can’t help but flinch a little at the title, and his glare is met with a chuckle from Cable. The hand on his brow smooths back, brushing through close-cropped hair and over the curve of his skull. Frank can’t tell if or when Cable is rummaging around in his head, and since it’s not something he usually deals with, he keeps forgetting it’s something the bastard could do. Another advantage he’d have over Frank in a fight.

That hand is slowly petting him now, in a way that plays between soothing and hideously patronizing, and he likes that. There’s a part of him that loves submission, loves a chance to bow his head and offer himself up. It’s one of the things that had made him such a good soldier, that willingness to put himself in the hands of his superiors. Applying that to a sexual situation may be new, but he finds that he enjoys it. He wonders if Cable had somehow already figured that out, plucking it out of his head, and suddenly thinks he can see the benefit to sleeping with a telepath.

“Very good,” Cable says, and again it’s somewhere between condescending and genuine and Frank feels the flesh crawl along his back as the man settles his stance, holding his head tipped back so he can watch him smirk, weird glowy eye lighting up. “You’re going to be good just like this the rest of the night, right, _Lieutenant?_ ”

Probably, for appearances sake at the very least, Frank should show some defiance. Hesitation at the least. It’s a little embarrassing how quick he is to nod, how immediate the urge to comply with this game is, but it’s not embarrassing enough to keep him from doing it. Cable brings his cock to the seam of Frank’s lips and he parts them immediately, and after that there’s no place anymore for defiance.

It’s been years, over a decade, since Frank sucked cock. He worries a little that, because of that, he’ll be too sloppy for it to feel good. Judging by the little groan of appreciation he gets when his tongue curls against the head, teasing the foreskin, this worry is baseless.

Cable doesn’t seem overly concerned with technique, taking Frank’s face gently in both hands and thrusting shallowly between his lips. His hands are both warm, and Frank gets the impression that the metal is somehow alive, a curiously intimidating realization. Cable’s motions take him ever deeper, right up to the edge of being too much, at which point he backs off for a moment, letting Frank breathe uninhibited.

“You gonna puke on me if I go deeper,” he asks, more concerned than mocking, and smiles a little when Frank immediately shakes his head. His hands are balled so tight on his lap, weighted against his own thighs, and his head is still cradled in Cable’s grip. He feels needy and off-balance, the familiar feeling of lost control bubbling in his chest, sexual for once rather than violent. He wants more, wants it now, and Cable, probably reading the realization out of his mind (asshole bastard prick that he is) gives it to him.

The sensation of Cable’s cock pushing into his throat forces him to swallow; it’s the only way he knows to mitigate the reflexive gag that threatens. His hands fly from his lap, fingers clutching at Cable’s hips purely by reflex, and Cable immediately stills. “Hands down, Lieutenant, until I say otherwise.” Calm and commanding, like he doesn’t have his dick buried in Frank’s mouth.

It takes a surprising amount of effort to unlock his fingers and lower them back to his own thighs, but he can’t quite stop himself from moaning when Cable pushes in deeper, so he can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t do anything but swallow against the impulse to gag. Cable strokes his thumb over the curve of Frank’s cheek when he withdraws.

“So good, so obedient. I’m gonna move faster now, and you’re gonna stay just like that, hands in your lap.”

Frank appreciates the warning, the thrill of anticipation that comes with hearing Cable’s intention. It’s part of giving up control, to be told what would happen and have to just trust that what was said would be done. Cable had an odd ability to inspire trust, proven well enough by the fact that Frank had followed him back to the apartment after he’d tried to walk out. Wonder upon wonders, Cable doesn’t twist the trust at all; he does exactly what he said, holding Frank with just enough force to keep him steady as he moved.

Really, in pretty much any situation, Frank’s not a fan of discomfort. He doesn’t get off on pain, doesn’t think there’s anything noble about suffering, and generally speaking, if something hurts he stops doing it as soon as possible. Takes preventative measures to avoid it happening in the future. But there’s something about the feeling of that rough metal vein rubbing against his upper lip, almost the corner of his mouth, friction and speed leaving it raw and sore. Something Frank likes more than he wants to.

He should resist, because it’s not a great feeling, but he doesn’t. He tightens his fists and closes his eyes and tries not to think what that would feel like pistoning into him elsewhere. Tries to ignore his own rock hard dick, straining at his underwear.

Cable doesn’t make a lot of noise, so the sloppy wet sound of him fucking Frank’s face seems absurdly loud, and every thin, helpless little noise that escapes Frank is clear in source.

Before they’d gotten this far, they’d discussed this, what was expected, what was wanted. Cable was mercifully blunt and open about what he was looking for, which made the arrangement easier for Frank. But when it had gotten to Frank’s preference regarding Cable finishing, Frank’s brain had pretty much gone to white noise. In his mouth, out of it, on him, whatever; he’d just shrugged like it didn’t matter and told Cable to surprise him.

To which Cable had smiled that weirdly bland smile, almost serene, and told Frank to get undressed.

See the issue, though, was Frank didn’t like surprises. Frank liked knowing what was going to happen well enough in advance to make a few contingencies and figure out his escape routes. Agreeing to get on his knees in the comfort and privacy of his own apartment -- reducing the chances of being walked in on by, say, a mouthy mercenary who’d try to join in -- had been all well and good, was _still_ all well and good, except Cable’s rhythm is faltering, his thrusts are going a little deeper again, reflexive tears of discomfort are building in the corners of Frank’s eyes, and his heart is beating against his ribs as if to break them because he doesn’t know what’s going to happen.

Worse, he doesn’t know what he _wants_ to happen. Every option fills him with a weird kind of dread and squirrely, indescribable sort of desire. He likes and loathes them all in equal measure.

Maybe Cable understands that. Certainly he must pick up on it; he shifts his hand on Frank’s face, stroking soothingly as he smears away tears that threaten to fall. “Hands on me now,” he says, and his voice is tighter now, growling with the effort of restraint. “If it’s too much, _push_ , I’ll let you go. That’s an order, got it?”

Frank, held this way, can’t so much as nod, but with a telepath, he figures the mere thought of acquiescence should be enough.

Sure enough, he’s barely got his hands on Cable’s hips before the man has thrust himself as deeply into Frank’s mouth as he can, filling his throat so fast he can’t help but gag, throat convulsing in a way that makes Cable groan. Frank feels dizzy, unable to breathe, overwhelmed, and Cable’s hands on his face are warm and grounding. He can feel the dick he’s literally, actively choking on twitch in his mouth, and then Cable pulls back just enough that the head sits on Frank’s tongue, making him taste.

Really, it’s not bad. Frank tightens his grip on Cable’s hips, his knees screaming murder for staying in this position for so long, but he doesn’t even think about pushing Cable away. His tongue presses Cable’s dick against the roof of his mouth, making it easier to suck. Cable growls something, words, but Frank’s not entirely sure what they are; he’s more focused on the pressure of Cable’s fingers against his face, the absurdly hot feeling of come pulsing down his throat, drool leaking from the raw corner of his mouth, running down his chin.

He feels filthy and wanton as Cable pulls out, leaving him breathing heavily, open mouthed, more desperate for air than he would have thought. When Cable releases his face, he immediately bows his head, dropping his hands from Cable’s hips, shuddering. His head is foggy the way it might be after a close call, a firefight, like he’s come so close to dying that he’s not entirely certain he’s actually still here.

“On your feet, Lieutenant,” Cable commands, and Frank looks up at him, feeling dull and stupid even as he moves obediently to stand. There is no other option. Cable is no taller than he is, but he manhandles Frank with an ease Frank is utterly unaccustomed to, utterly unprepared to fight; he twists Frank around and drags him close, back to chest, so Frank can feel in great detail all the moving metal parts that make up Cable’s left side. The metal arm wraps securely around his shoulder, flesh hand pushing down Frank’s underwear, wrapping around his dick; tight, hot, perfect, exactly what Frank needs. He’s breathing faster now, sharper, caught up in it as Cable bites at his shoulder, a beautiful blend of pain and pleasure. Frank comes forcefully after a bare handful of strokes, tensing in Cable’s hold, pressing into him for support.

Afterward, Cable is softer. He bids Frank sit on his own couch, cleans them both up with paper towel from the kitchen. Frank can barely keep track of him, processing what they’d just done, compartmentalizing, trying to decide to what extent he could admit having enjoyed himself.

When Cable hands him a beer, he tries to twist a cap off that isn’t there, and Cable chuckles softly. Frank isn’t sure how to react to that, sitting on his couch in his underwear, drinking beer after a weirdly intense blowjob, and settles on scowling at the floor. Cable, meanwhile, is dragging on his clothes.

“Drink that. Shower. I have to go.”

Frank looks up at the man, taking a drink to keep his mouth occupied. Cable looks placid, pleased, a little rumpled but presentable.

“It’s not an emergency, but I do have to go.” He pauses, seems to think for a moment -- or maybe he’s assessing, flipping through Frank’s head again, who knows -- and then he steps closer, bending low to kiss Frank’s temple, a weirdly sweet gesture. “Don’t be a stranger.”

And that, evidently, is enough of a goodbye for Cable, because he pulls on a coat and heads out, leaving Frank to stare at his closed door. After a minute or two, Frank sets his beer down, gets up, and locks the door.

That’s all his favors repaid.

He’s not sure if he wants to get himself back in debt or not.


End file.
